AND IF YOU WRONG US, SHALL WE NOT REVENGE?

    Théo holds the popcorn bowl between them like a shield, a buffer and an easy item to focus on instead of having to look directly at his companion. Now that they’re in such close proximity, well, in Théo terms at least, he feels a spike in anxiety again, aware of his body in proximity to Kfir’s, the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. He seeks refuge in the opening credits, the campy stream of music, and brick courtyard, though his head tilts curiously at Kfir’s piece of trivia.

    “…Didn’t know, actually. So, it was just Jefferies and Thorwald?” He considers this, pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth, and then shyly continues, “…Suppose that would change the storytelling.Paranoia looks different when there’s no one to share it with. Even with Doyle around, there’d be less talking. And that scene where Lisa breaks in to the apartment… Suppose for the general public, they’d want some sort of romance in there too, though, personally, don’t think that’s important.”

    He chances a sideways look at Kfir, sure that he’s rambling, but at the same time, too excited about the topic. And frankly, excited to be around someone who is equally excited about it. Leans forward to take sip from the whiskey, and makes a quiet appreciative noise in the back of his throat. Gets quiet again with the opening sequence, that sweeping pan of different parts of the complex, peeking into the neighbor’s windows. Though he does make a point to look away when the dancer lady appears, sans top and bends over. “…Like this part.”

    Blushes furiously, then clarifies, “Not the shirtless woman. I meant. How this is filmed. Like the viewer’s looking out the window, so you get a sense of what Jefferies sees. Sets a mood.”

Though smiling wide at Théo’s last remark, Kfir does his best to curb down a quiet laughter bubbling in the deep of his throat. It doesn’t take even half his training to notice Théo is clearly nervous in his presence -- though someone, that doesn’t make Kfir feel bad or awkward. It doesn’t make him want to relieve Théo of his nervousness -- or rather, he will, because he just isn’t that mean, doesn’t need that egotistical stroke -- but, if anything, it makes Kfir happy to know. To put things simply: if there was nothing here, between them -- there would be nothing for Théo to be nervous about.

So he smiles and nods and tries not to look Théo’s way for too long as he considers his observations.

“He was just such a good director. I mean, it’s undeniable, watching his films. It’s just... he’s perfected his method of storytelling. I mean -- that’s what humans do, right? That’s art. It’s just different methods of storytelling. Cave paintings, Da Vinci and -- yeah, Hitchcock -- they all just wanted one thing. To tell a compelling story in a compelling way.”

Maybe that’s a little too heavy on the art history philosophy, but Théo is far more than just qualified to understand. He pauses, mouths a small handful of popcorn -- then instantly carries on.

    If at first, Théo’s face remains stoic, it’s only because he’s in awe of how fast Kfir’s fingers manage technology, typing in the search bar at breakneck speed. He takes the phone, slightly stupefied, tries not to flinch again from the exchange, brief touching of their fingertips then averts his attention to the screen, hoping that his guest doesn’t catch how red his ears are peeking out from the curtain of his hair.

    It’s about Rebecca, another one of Théo’s favorites, and he watches with a giddy fascination at the parody, almost forgetting to be embarrassed. His mouth quirks at the corners. Just the silliness of it: if Rebecca had been the one that wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to Max’s future second wife. It’s executed well, that grandiose delivery of lines so common in movies in that era. By the end of the skit, where Mrs. Danver’s is piling on the future Mrs. De Winter’s dresses in a range of sizes, Théo’s smile is pronounced.

    It’s up until this moment that he hasn’t realized that their elbows are touching and they’re arm to arm, Kfir watching alongside him on the small screen. He can feel the fabric of his henley, and the body heat beneath. He can smell that same cool scent that makes him think of the woods, and dark waters… On Kfir’s skin. The smile disappears, brief flash of panic like a deer in the headlights, and he shifts sideways, breaking the connection, handing Kfir’s phone back without eye contact. “…Liked it, was funny.”

    Then he’s awkwardly sitting on the sofa, clearing his throat, nervous fingers clenching and unclenching against his jeans. This was a bad idea, wasn’t it? Standing beside someone shouldn’t evoke such a reaction. Especially someone whose humor is right up your alley, and that’s sort of a rare occurrence with Théo. It’s not that he doesn’t find things amusing, ever. It’s that he so rarely finds someone worth sharing those thoughts with. He glances through dark strands a little sheepishly, elaborates while nodding for Kfir to sit. “…When Mrs. Danver’s did that floating bit.”

    The image of it makes him smirk, a little self-consciously, but still allowing it to happen. He hits the play button, offers the huge Tupperware bowl that is used for snacking in the Laurent home to his guest, almost as an apology, though for what he doesn’t know, “…Popcorn?”

It feels as though he’s done something wrong and, though Kfir knows Théo well enough by now to know not to let it show, to keep the smile on his lips all the same when he looks at him, he can’t help but feel he’s done something to upset the other man. It’s such a delicate thing, talking with him, their chemistry --- it’s like trying to coax a frightened woodland creature out of its hiding place so that you may pat it. Always one step forward, two steps back. Théo won’t meet his eyes and suppose that is proof enough that this is a step back.     But then he’s offering Kfir a seat and sort of looking at him and, of course, Kfir has to seize this opportunity. So he lowers himself onto the sofa --- a comfortable distance from Théo, but not so much that they’re sitting on opposite ends --- and offers him one of his tightly-pressed smiles.     God, he looks cute when he smiles. Théo, that is. Kfir has to consciously fight off the temptation to reach out and push his hair out of his face so that he can get a better look at his cloudy-day-grey eyes.

    He regrets immediately, the brief glance he shoots as Kfir takes a drink, the way his throat bobs with the swallow, the way he seems to smile around the glass. It’s got Théo’s brain derailing into directions he doesn’t quite understand, and frankly freak him the fuck out to even examine. It’s weird to watch someone eat or drink, he knows this, so why is he unable to look away? So, his friend has an interesting face, so what? So his friend looks alarmingly good in a henley. No big deal. Just an observation. Doesn’t mean anything.

    Just like it doesn’t mean anything that Kfir is echoing his exact thoughts about one of his favorite Hitchcock films, and this for some reason makes him giddier than several undone buttons ever could. It’s that strange rushing down a hill and unable to stop feeling, that he’d experienced several times when they were hashing out films andsending each other clips over their phones. He picks up Rear Window, passes the case from hand to hand nervously, while nodding in agreement. “…So much about this movie. Like Hitchcock knew that the mind’s ability to go to the dark places would be the scariest thing.”

    Decided, he pops in the film, queues up the menu, as Kfir goes into another segue. Has a little trouble reconciling the mode on the television, but finally manages. He looks over his shoulder at the question, where he’s kneeling in front of the TV stand, shakes his head ‘no’. He’s less nervous than he was before. Maybe because they’re back in familiar territory. Showing each other things of interest. And he has to admit, that he likes being able to pique Kfir’s attention with film clips and start up a discussion. Hear his two cents about it. Just as he likes that Kfir does the same for him, treats him as an equal whose opinion is worth something, despite his lack of artistic background. It’sarguably the biggest reason that the man is sitting in his very private home, at the moment.

1. We are both Israeli. 2. We have both served in the IDF. 3. We are both undergrads with a degree from the Bezalel Academy of Arts & Design. 4. Both our favorite artistic medium is watercolors. 5. We are both Ashkenazi Jews, though both our parents were born in Israel as well, and both come from small families of only two siblings.

FIVE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN MUSE &. MUN.

1. I was born in Israel, unlike Kfir, who was born in Canada. 2. During my military service I worked as a Foreign Affairs NCO in the Air Force headquarters. Kfir was in the Army and like, a million percent more combat than I ever was. 3. I have a Bachelor’s in Design and have graduated from the Visual Communication department; Kfir has a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts and has graduated from the Screen-Based Arts department. 4. I’ve always wanted to learn to be a tattoo artist; Kfir has actually done it. 5. I was born in and have always lived in central Israel, where most big cities and the largest population is. Kfir is from the south, which is mostly an unsettled desert.

    He is more grateful than he can ever care to admit about Job tutoring him. He realizes this is a prime opportunity to be teased, which is why he went to his brother. The kid never asks any questions. Is patient. Nonjudgmental. Come to think of it, with pretty much any subject that Théo broaches. Although sometimes, he does feel like an inconvenience to him, like the clueless old man who can’t turn on his computer. Still, Job doesn’t actually seem to mind.

    It’s a painful half hour until he finally figures it out, majority of the time spent searching for this mystery symbol on is phone, which turned out to be hidden in plain view. Ah. The Colored Fruit Thing. And the rest of the time, with poor Job actually having to explain the search bar and the address bar and the difference between them, which Théo is not entirely sure to this day.

(     He’s lucky that he’s doing paperwork this morning, so that he can hide in the office and avoid the prying eyes of his hired minions.     )

    Staring at the blinking cursor, and the blank search bar, he once again looks around like he’s being watched. This seems like too much power for one person. You could really type anything? And it would find it on the internet? All the internet?

    Kfir Harel. Search.

    A good twenty or so searches pop up on the screen. Théo lets out the breath hedidn’t know he was holding, scrolls down like he’s discovered the Lost Ar . Bezalel Academy of Arts, Student Exhibitons. Bezalel Academy of Arts, Animation Program. Opens a link. Is treated to some pretty unique pieces, and a whole lot of Hebrew, which he can’t read. But he can recognize that swooping nose, anywhere.

    A younger Kfir, less age around his eyes, though looking tired, a pouty-lipped half smile. Standing casually next to what Théo assumes is his own work. Storyboards and sketches. Whimsical looking models and puppets. Kfir’s careful hands and eyes adjusting a set. There isn’t cockiness in his demeanor, although there’s definitely confidence. Maybe not as much as he possesses now, but Théo can see that he’s a changed man. Has perhaps seen things in his time in the world. Théo feels a mixture of awe and something else.

    Without even thinking about it, he goes back to the Google. Taps on the Images filter, even though his ears are turning red. Is he snooping? Is this voyeuristic and creepy? No. He’s just doing a background check. It’s totally reasonable to do that with a new friend.Emphasis friend.

    Swallows hard, his throat suddenly feeling dry and takes a sip of his cartoon character coffee mug. Garfield hates Mondays. Théo’s okay with them.

    Kfir in military garb, sunglasses against the desert sun, hair shaved down toregulation. Arms around what Théo assumes are some fellow soldiers in his unit. Wait, Kfir was in the army? Well that would explain the physique. Nat’s unhelpful voice in the back of his mind, which he quickly shakes out, face on fire. More Kfir, standing at attention, even in the casual photos. A video clip. IDF Krav Maga Training.

   Théo gives it a tap. And almost falls out of his chair, successfully sweeping some invoices to the ground.

    Kfir on the mats, taking down a sparring opponent at lightning speed, bodies hitting the ground. The hair on the back of Théo’s neck is standing up. It’s terrifying, but also intriguing,like watching a panther on the discovery channel. He notes the dampness ofsweat, and quickly closes the flip phone.

   Realizes that there’s the blinking message notification from this morning. Oh. From Kfir. The guy I definitely did not do theGoogling with.

To: Kfir (10:29 AM) -Yes. Seems like that sometimes. -Built your own studio?

    Théo thinks about his garage in the back lot. And then reads the following message and blanches. An invitation to see said studio. And invitation to see more of Kfir’s creations, and how they’ve changed since he was just a student in art school. Not that he’s been spying or anything. Research purposes. Right. He drums nervously with his feet.

    I mean. Yes. He would like to. But also, no. He barely knows the guy. Even with the Googling. Although this could be an opportunity to get to know him better. Through socializing like a normal person and not looking him up on the Internet.

To: Kfir (10:48 AM) -Sometime. See what you’re working on. -Could come by garage.

    Oh shit. Did he hit send? Did he actually hit send on that message? What is he doing? He quickly drops the phone into a desk drawer, and slams it. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he diligently throws himself into inventory sheets, hoping to distract himself.

He’s working late again - and why not? Nothing in particular waiting for him back home, and thanks to four years of slaving his ass off in Bezalel, the artistic part of his mind works best after dark. It isn’t as though he’s in a rush to get to bed. Whichever way, his personal cell is always switched off within the premises of Northbridge and whoever wants access to his work cell needs to go through a pretty rigorous clearing process (though the process does not necessarily involve aforementioned person. More like, Kfir gives the company a name, and two to three weeks later they email him their decision as to whether he is allowed to hand his number out to this specific person, who must later guarantee they will not be handing Kfir’s number out to anybody else, and so on and so forth). It is another day for takeout --- Thai this time around, green curry with shrimps and vegetables over rice, and yet another wartime documentary before he has the chance to switch his personal phone back on and find four new message notifications from Théo.     His brow creases with confusion for a brief moment before his lips stretch with a knowing smile. Suppose Théo isn’t as uptight as he first appears to be (and boy, if uptight isn’t a gross understatement). Mouth full of curry, television going on about the Battle of the Bulge, he leans back in the couch and taps away at his phone.

To: Théo // 21:46

Sure. I’d like that 😊 Don’t really know much about cars though Or motorcycles Or much of any of that for that matter You’re going to have to hold my hand through it, is what I’m trying to say

Still too blatant? Possibly. Check that: probably. He isn’t usually as graceless as this, but suppose it’s been a while. Suppose he’s never hit on someone quite as awkward and clearly antisocial as Théo either. Well, antisocial might be a tad harsh --- he is trying, after all, or at least he seems to be, for Kfir; but on the other hand, it doesn’t quite take a genius to see social interaction isn’t this guy’s strong suit, to say the least.     So Kfir tries for Théo, too.

To: Théo // 21:51

    He has to stop himself from flinching as their fingers exchange the bottle. It’s a minor touch; so brief it wouldn’t even register for most people. But Théo isn’t most people. For him, physical touch is something of an anomaly, and he’s very selective about giving and receiving it. His insides jump. His heart goes into the vicinity of his throat, and then back down to his stomach. A second feels like a minute, and he pulls away in a hurry, nose bridge coloring. Has to make himself busy, by unscrewing the cap and pouring a generous thumb into the glasses that he’s set out. Lucky for him, he’s got steady hands, even though his thoughts are racing at the moment, and none of them make much sense.

    Wait. Was it bad that he chose movies from his own collection? Should he have gotten totally new movies, so that it would be novel for both himself and Kfir? He looks up at his guest’s question, mumbles an awkward “yes” before loping off to fetch the popcorn from themicrowave. From the kitchen, he can see Kfir in his peripheral, bent over the DVD’s, and he feels so nervous, he almost opens the bag of popcorn all over himself.

    He doesn’t understand why it’s so important for him that this goes well. Doesn’t understand because he’s never really wanted for the company of other people before. It’s a strange push and pull of needing Kfir to leave, and hoping that he stays. It’s frankly, terrifying.

    Steels himself, then returns to the living room and fills the bowl with their microwaved snack. Glances backwards towards the closed door of his room. He’s got some new rentals in there. Not new as in they were created recently, but new as in he hasn’t seen them before. Recommended by Kai at the garage who apparently eats obscure foreign B-horror for breakfast. Clears his throat, and gives Kfir a glass, fingers brushing again, eyes looking at the top button of his henley to avoid eye contact. …What’s that smell. It smells nice. Is that Kfir?

    “…More movies in my room. Could get something else.” His throat feels dry, and he wets his mouth with his own glass, grateful for the distracting burn. “Haven’t seen the Hitchcock collection in awhile.”

Smiling one of his tight-lipped, pouty smiles, Kfir has a short sip of whiskey without a cheers, knowing such formalities to be outside of Théo’s repertoir which, admittedly, suits him just fine; no need to make this anymore awkward than it already is, and any and every social interaction involving Théo is very awkward, to say the least. Not that Kfir is bothered in any way --- in fact, it’s sort of endearing --- but he supposes there’s more than just both their busy schedules that has kept them texting plenty, but seeing very little of each other in real life (--- is Théo staring at his chest? This pondering invades his otherwise lax train of thought, disrupting it; the way Théo’s gaze is directed away from his face is quite blatant. Damn, he knows Henleys work well for him, but not this well).

    The toast has been devoured by the time that Théo is finished reading Kfir’s texts, and he brushes crumbs off his chest idly, his mind’s eye painting a picture of a younger Kfir in art school. A younger Kfir building little projects with precise, quick fingers like some sort of animation Victor Frankenstein. The thought makes him unconsciously smile, mouth jumping up at the corner.

    Suppose he would be able to find evidence of what Kfir was like, back then? Suppose he might use THE INTERNET to do such athing. He looks around suddenly, as though someone might be watching over his shoulder, but there’s no one. Just Mr. Meows sprawled on the hardwood,absorbing the morning sunlight with a “couldn’t give two shits” expression.

    Théo flushes. Would that be creepy? Stalkerish? He normally has a pretty heavy vetting process in regards to the company that he keeps. A slow, painful process of tiny interactions until he could get a feel for the other person. Learning about them and collecting the information to store in little pockets in the back of his mind. Wouldn’t this speed up the process? Without having to actually do the awkward socializing part? There’s some searching thing that you can do, he’s sure of it. A search engine. That was it. Which was confusing, considering it had nothing to do with engines, a subject that Théo is very familiar with. It also had a weird name, sounded like a rejected clown’s moniker.

     His foot taps an unconscious rhythm. Then he opens up a text box to his younger brother.

Text to: Brother (07:45 AM)

-Good morning. -How to google? -Thanks.

     Then to Kfir, as though he hadn’t spent the night sleeping fitfully.

Text to: Kfir (07:51 AM)

-Different level of creepy. That animator. -I like puppet work. Still build your own? -Would like to see someday. -Night was a night. Okay. You?

    He glances at the wall clock, despite having a perfectly functioning time on his phone. Needs to get going. Fills his thermos with the rest of his coffee, grabs his keys from a candy dish by the door, then steps into his boots. Sends one last text back to Kfir, before noting that Job has texted him back.

Text to: Kfir (07:59 AM)

-Work now. -Have a good day. -Talk later.

It is Job, first, that stares dumbly at the shattered screen of his phone as he makes the little distance from Faith to the back door of the nursing home he’s been working at as a janitor, down in the town of Yukon, Missouri. It takes a moment of blinking, then another moment of squinting at the words typed on his screen before he breaks into one of his hiccupy, mule-like braying laughters, quickly thereafter snapping his mouth shut and rolling his lips inside his mouth, biting down on them hard as to stop the annoying sound from leaving him. How to google. What the actual fuck, Thay.     He stops beside the back door, at what the other employees call the smoke pit, and parks a Pall Mall in the corner of his lips before texting his brother back. This is going to take a while.

To: 🐻 // 07:58 AM

at the bottom of ur screen u have this round icon red, green & yellow with a smaller blue circle in the middle, yes?

Then comes Kfir’s turn though he, regretfully, is not half as amused as Job; though thankfully entirely oblivious to Théo’s crippling disability in understanding technology.

To: Théo // 08:03

See you later!

This gives him more time to think of his reply. Not that any of them have been particularly mindfully crafted; but still, it seems as though texting Théo back, as a general rule, should at least some thought. He doesn’t want to ramble when the other man appears to be so economic with his own words. Doesn’t want to scare him off. Why, exactly? He isn’t sure yet. Maybe because it’s been a long time since anyone has taken any interset in his work, or since Kfir could talk shop with anyone at all --- and Théo seems genuinely interested, more so than the average person. His knowledge seems to be as vast as Kfir’s if not more --- and that, well --- suppose that’s special enough.     And it’s that. Just that. Totally not the way Théo looked in his coveralls with a little speck of motor oil on his cheek. Nope. Not that, like, at all.

To: Théo // 08:11

My night was fine 😊 wish it was longer. Not enough hours in the day Still build some puppets when the muse allows. Not very often, but sometimes. Got a little studio set up at my house You should come check it out sometime. Still have my latest set set up

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list.

[ color ] red. brown. orange.  yellow. green.  blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold.  grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green.

[ elemental ] fire. ice. water. air. earth.  rain.  snow. wind. moon. stars. sun.  heat. cold. steam. frost. lightening. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk.  twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. sand.

[ body ] claws. long fingers.  fangs.  teeth.  wings.  tails.  lips.  bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes.  feathers.  webs.  eyes.  hands.  sweat.  tears.  feline. chubby.  curvy.  short. tall.  normal height.  muscular. slender. lanky. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak.  shapeshifting.

[ weaponry ] fists. sword.  dagger.  spear.  scythe.  bow and arrow.  hammer. shield.  poison.  guns ( phaser ).  axes.  throwing axes.  whips. knives. throwing knives.  pepper sprays.  tasers.  machine guns.  slingshots. katanas.  maces.  staffs. wands. powers.  magical items.  magic. rocks.

[ material ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds.  pearls.  rubies.  sapphires. emeralds.  amethyst. metal.  iron. rust.  steel.  glass. wood. porcelain.  paper. wool.  fur. lace. leather. copper. silk.  velvet. denim.  linen.  cotton.  charcoal.  clay.  stone. asphalt.  brick. marble. dust. glitter.  blood. dirt.  mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.  yarn.  slime.

[ nature ] grass. leaves . trees.  bark. roses.  daisies.  tulips.  holly.  lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. seeds.  hay. sand.  rocks.  snow. ice. roots.  flowers. ocean. river.  lake. meadow.  forest.  desert.  tundra. savanna.  rain forest.  swamp.  caves. underwater.  coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds.  mountains. fungi.  cliffs.

[ animals ] lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls.  falcons. hawks.  swans.  snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs.  roaches.  spiders.  birds.  whales.  dolphins.  fish.  sharks.  horses. cats. dogs. bunnies.  praying mantis.  crows.  ravens. mice.  lizards.  frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns.  pegasus.  dinosaurs. dragons.

[ food/drink ] sugar.  salt.  water. candy.  bubblegum.  wine.  champagne. hard liquor.  beer. coffee. tea. spices.  herbs.  apple.  orange.  lemon.  cherry.  strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish.  pies.  desserts. chocolate.  cream. caramel.  berries.  nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos.  pizza.

[ hobbies ] music. art.  watercolors. gardening. smithing.  sculpting.  painting. sketching. fighting.  fencing. riding. writing. composing.  cooking. sewing.  training. dancing.  acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense.  electronics.  technology. cameras.  video cameras.  video games.  computer.  phone.  movies. theater. libraries.  books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records.  vinyls.  cassettes.  piano.  violin.  cello. guitar.  electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica.  synthesizers.  harp.  woodwinds.  brass. trumpet.  flute. drums.  bells. playing cards.  poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating.  climbing. running.

[ style ] lingerie.  armor. cape.  dress.  suit.  tunic. vest. shirt. boots.  heels.  leggings. trousers.  jeans. skirt.  jewelry.  earrings.  necklace.  bracelet. ring.  pendant.  hat.  crown.  circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie.  brocade.  cloaks.  corsets.  doublet.  chest plate.  gorget.  bracers.  belt. sash.  coat. jacket. hood.  gloves. socks. masks.  cowls.  braces.  watches. glasses. sun glasses.  visor.  eye contacts.  makeup.

[ misc ] balloons.  bubbles.  cityscape. landscape. light.  dark.  candles.  war. peace. money. power.  percussion.  clocks. photos.  mirrors.  pets.  diary.  fairy lights.  madness.  sanity. sadness. happiness.  optimism. pessimism.  loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants.  co-workers.  enemies. lovers.  loyalty. smoking.  alcohol.  drugs.  kindness.  love. embracing.

    It feels like everything is moving in theslow-motion speed of a horror movie scene where the protagonist is slowly getting stabbed to death. Théo can see Nat’s mouth moving, her long fingers, covered with rings reaching forward to shake Kfir’s hand with gusto, before she turns back and gives him a smug smile.

   How does he stop this? What is the protocol for this situation? Is it too late to make a break for the fire escape? The taller man stands rooted to the spot, eyes darting between Nathalie and his guest for the night.

    “He’s probably afraid to get outshined.” Nat jokes, gives her brother a little nudge in the ribs. “But don’t worry, Baby Brother. I’m not a boyfriend stealer. There’s a code, you know. I may be all about the debauchery, but even that would be taking it too far.”

    Boyfriend? What boyfriend? Does she think Kfir ishis boyfriend? Théo’s collar suddenly feels too tight, the skin heating up on his face. Nat needs to leave. Now. In fact, everyone needs to leave, and maybe Théo can spend the night shut inhis room and never coming out ever again. This was a bad idea. Everything ever is a bad idea.

   “Anyways. I have a show to play. A punk show, as you would have it.” She chuckles, nods out the door. “Nice meeting you, Kfir. Don’t be a stranger. Oh… And say you have too much to drink tonight, and you need a place to crash. Our home is your home. Feel free to make use of any of the commodities. Fridge. Shower. Théo’s bed. And with that I bid you goodnight. Don’t wait up!”

    Then she’s out the door, making sure to hip check Théo before leaving and give Kfir an exaggerated wink, her boots clomping merrily down the hallway.

    Théo watches her leave, embarrassed and sullen at the same time. It occurs to him that Kfir is still standing in the doorway, and he takes an awkward step back to let him in, eyes glued to the floor. He doesn’t even know what to say after that. He wishes life had an abort button. Maybe a restart button. Where you could quickly eject meddling older sisters before they traumatized you into social panic attacks. “…Sorry. She’s-“

   Ruthless? An agent of chaos? Insane?

   He trails off, clears his throat. Then offers to take Kfir’s jacket, still avoiding eye contact, but managing to get an eyeful of a form fitting Henley, and an inhale of a clean, cool smell of something. Feels his gaze lingering on tattooed skin peeking out from underneath the rolled up sleeves and nearly trips over his own feet while hanging the coat up in the closet. He is acutely aware of the way his own clothes fit, the nervous bubbling in his stomach and the fact that he even noticed these things about the other man.

    “…So. This is. My house.” It sounds stupid as soon as it leaves his mouth, and Théo turns away to busy himself in the kitchen. It’s a very modest space. The entirety of which can be cleared in ten steps. Despite the open floor plan, there is a sense that every inch of the place is occupied, knick-knacks from Nathalie’s travels, furniture crowding the area, the perimeter strung up with colorful Christmas lights.

    “We have… Coke. Water. Juice.” He mumbles from the fridge, then goes to start the microwave popcorn. “Put some DVD’s on the coffee table. If you want to pick something. More on the shelves.”

    There’s a mish mash of old-school suspense (Hitchcock), quirky stop-motion (‘Fantastic Mister Fox’, ‘Coraline’) and some random Japanese horror movies (‘Ringu’, ‘Ju-on’, ‘Audition’). Théo stands self-consciously by the couch, finally offering a shy smile at Kfir, just a brief little twitch of the lips. Looks at the Bushmills with approval. “…For tonight?”

Not a boyfriends stealer, huh? Emphasis on the boyfriend bit. Big emphasis --- HUGE. He knew it. Knew this was a date --- an unofficial non-date date, but a date nevertheless. Okay --- they’re not boyfriends, fine, that’s taking it a bit too far (so is suggesting they spend the night in the same bed, if he knows anything about Théo at all; but that bit, Kfir politely ignores), maybe --- but close enough, right? He’ll take what he can get.       “Break a leg!” He calls after Nathalie as she leaves before turning his attention back to the other man, tightly-pressed, pouty smile still very much present, Bushmills still at hand. Speaking of Théo --- he looks... nice. Clean buttoned shirt and --- has he washed his hair? Though admittedly, Kfir prefers the greased-up mechanic look (and in truth isn’t even mildly ashamed of the fact), this is... damn, Théo cleans up nicely, even if he knows better than to acknowledge it in so many words. Instead, he settles for a mere, softly-spoken ‘looking good’ before following Théo inside, knowing even that to be pushing the limits of what the older man feels comfortable with.

    Underneath the blanket nest, Théo feels acutely uncomfortable. There’s unexplained embarrassment, heat in his ears and an anxious fluttering in his stomach. All this over some accidental and totally out of character emojis. People say it’s easier to communicate via text message, but Théo thinks it may be just as hard.

    He doesn’t understand it. He’d never felt the need to impress anyone, and therefore had never tried. He shouldn’t be concerned over what a stranger/barely acquaintance thinks, but a part of him; some small, weak part underneath all the layers of armor wants nothing more than to be liked. Wants connection to a like-minded person. However much his surly exterior tells otherwise.

    And for the most part, he could do without interactions completely. But perhaps with the right people, the right person even, he could be swayed otherwise. It had happened with Job.Perhaps it could happen again?

    He shuts his eyes harder. Doesn’t want to think about this. Sleep eludes him for an hour, fuzzy thoughts moving around in his head, but eventually comes.

    Six a.m. brings the shriek of an alarm clock. A heavy palm feels around on his nightstand to turn it off, but not before knocking over his mobile to the floor with a clack. Théo sits up grumpily, eyes still heavy with tiredness, body sluggish and fingers feeling around for the device on the hardwood. He stares at it for a moment, confused, then all at once the memory of last night floods back into his consciousness. He groans and presses his face into his pillow.

    If he opened it now, what would Kfir say?

    You’re a fucking weirdo who doesn’t know how to talk, and goodbye?

    He manages avoiding it until he’s dressed and sitting at the dining room table. A piece of dry toast is clamped between his lips and he’s zipping his coveralls up. Black coffee steams in a novelty mug in front of him. He sighs, and flips the device open. And is pleasantly surprised.

    No reprimands or questions about his strange behavior. Just a link to another video. And arguably an invitation to continue speaking?

    He watches it, his face lighting up.

Text to: Kfir (07:02 AM) -Quirky. Liked watching. -Simple but not. Not many people know how much time it takes to make something like this. -All those little dice. -Good morning.

    He watches several more videos by the same animator. Delights in one about guacamole. The ‘food’ ones becomes his favorite. He wonders if Kfir has ever created something to this effect. Finishes his coffee and feels brave enough to ask, perhaps buoyed by the fact that the other man is still speaking to him.

Text to: Kfir (07:20 AM) -You do animation like this before?

He is already past his morning run and subsequent shower by the time his phone beeps with a new text message notification, Théo’s name appearing on the screen bringing a small smile to his lips. Good, so whatever last night was didn’t scare him away. It’s hard not to think of the man in the terms of a wild animal; one must be gentle, speak softly and move slowly, with intent and caution, lest it runs off into the woods and disappears forever. Chewing on a buttered toast (Kfir is a man of routine; it keeps his mind organized; keeps him sane), the small of his back leaned against the kitchen counter, he unlocks the screen of his smartphone; chuckling quietly at the contents of Théo’s messages.

To: Théo // 07:31

Uh, no, not really I mean we had a few assignments like this mostly in the first year

To: Théo // 07:34

First couple of years you get to do a little bit of everything so you can make an educated decision when you pick a specialty a year later But I’m not that good at it. More of a puppet man myself Kind of like those videos you sent ... only not as creepy 😂

To: Théo // 07:38

Anyway, I won’t send you first year films. It’s really embarrassing, basic stuff

Their first ever assignment both in stop-motion and replacement animation, he’d shot trees growing out of pencils (this scene was shot backwards; he’d started with the trees fully grown and then slowly sharpened the pencils to their ends), the leaves they grew made out of crepe paper. The skies were a simple piece cardboard painted blue and the clouds were crumpled toilet paper. Rocks were silver little pencil sharpeners and bunnies hopping around in the woods were erasers. He’d purchased a large pack and cut them into different sizes so that the erasers appeared to stretch and compress as they jumped around. All of which might sound cute, but the lighting was awful and his camera sucked and all in all, to a more professional eye like his own, the short film now looks exactly like what it is: an inexperienced first-year exercise.

To: Théo // 07:41